


on a bright cloud of platinum and gold

by TroglodyteMonologue



Series: tonight, tonight, it all began tonight [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Post S7, Romance, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24666781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroglodyteMonologue/pseuds/TroglodyteMonologue
Summary: The music wafting through the windows is undoubtedly a waltz. Shiro takes a step forward, offers his hand, and challenges, “Come and prove me wrong.”“You’re not serious.” Keith looks at him like he’s gazing into the open maw of a weblum.“I am,” Shiro assures. They have been dancing around each other for so long, perhaps it was time to do it for real.The coalition hosts a gala and Shiro finally decides to take the leap.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: tonight, tonight, it all began tonight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977112
Comments: 45
Kudos: 224





	on a bright cloud of platinum and gold

**Author's Note:**

> This has probably been written in some shape or form already, but I needed to do it myself. : ))))

After the invasion, Earth opens to the rest of the universe and Shiro thinks it’s a good thing.

The human race is eager to put its best foot forward. Ready to prove to its distant neighbors that they are prepared to join the galactic conversation. Their reputation is bolstered by Voltron, its paladins, and the Atlas, but a show of arms only proves their independence and self-governance. Cultural exchange is the next step. Rebels, Marmora, and alien travellers alike flood the cities around the Garrison to attend Earth’s memorial to the fallen. It is cathartic and necessary, for Shiro more than most, and the ceremony ushers in a new age of unity. But he knows a lighter, morale boosting celebration will follow close behind. People are ready to look to the future for something brighter. Shiro included.

Though a Coalition _Gala_ is not exactly what he pictures.

The Garrison’s Main Hall is bright and spacious; a rectangular-shaped ballroom with tall windows on the west side and a geometrically patterned ceiling that reminds Shiro of an Alaskan glacier. The curves and cuts even glisten against the spectacular chandelier; cascades of broken glass, icy and asymmetrical in design. The shards glow instead of sparkle and the illumination bathes the space in cool, calming hues of blue and purple. Gazing upwards upon his arrival, Shiro becomes strangely homesick for the Castle of Lions.

The night is in full swing. Laughter and chatter echoes through the hall and glasses clink with each toast between friends and colleagues. Rebel fighters swap war stories with cadets, old Garrison instructors give heartfelt confessions over one too many drinks, and Lance fumbles over his words when asking Allura for a dance. She gracefully accepts. Some other confident souls have taken to the floor with partners. But the majority of attendees — cadets, rebels, and military personnel alike — mill around and socialize, scuffing the hall's recently waxed floors. The ballroom will look more like the Garrison hangar at the end of the night. Attendees wear their best, which means something very different depending on the individual. Evening attire is hard to come by in a post-Galra invasion Earth. But everyone appears to be happy and safe. The twinkling lights seem to make their future daunting tasks more manageable.

And Shiro thinks that’s what really matters.

Music fills every corner of the large room like a symphonic current. On the far side, the dwindled Garrison Military Orchestra plays something cheerful and upbeat. Shiro knows they have lost mates — a few empty chairs between musicians have been set in tribute to them — but the band performs admirably in spite of the loss. Closure comes in all shapes and sizes.

Music is the centerpiece of the evening. It is a core piece of human culture they can share with the universe. As far as Shiro can tell, their visitors seem to enjoy the dulcet tones of Earthen instruments. They get particularly riled up for Johannes Brahms. Slav repeatedly tells Shiro he is concerned about a cellist’s choice of hairstyle. Shiro ignores him.

Finger foods come in waves and some dishes are too adventurous for even the bravest palates. “I wanted to showcase a unique variety of flavors from across the globe and the galaxy,” an excited Hunk tells him through the kitchen window, “This evening’s bill of fare is called ‘Astronomical Gastronomical’.” The Yellow Paladin bellows something over his shoulder and Shiro sees Sal whisk across the room in a panic. The captain severely doubts the people of Earth are ready for alien cuisine. He tries all appetizers except for one, which can only be described as oozy and brown. The lack of definitive shape disturbs him.

Shiro is adorned in a crisp, white captain’s uniform complete with a shiny new medal pinned at his breast. It feels heavy above his heart, especially when people bring it to his attention. But it is important, so he bears the weight. He is swarmed from the moment he arrives. Visitors, eager cadets, starry-eyed rebels; they all have the courage to approach the famous ex-paladin in a social setting. It’s flattering, and he tells admirers such, but he could go without taking pictures or signing autographs for a few deca-phoebs. It’s a form of outreach, Allura tells him, so he smiles and powers through.

Eventually, the celebrity appeal runs its course and he can escape to the bar for a glass of something strong to calm his nerves. The bartender hands him something bright purple but it hits like nunvil, so he doesn’t turn up his nose. He lingers at an uninhabited bar table near the wall and takes a moment to admire the curious flower floating in a glass basin. The white, lotus-like blossom is alien; the petal’s edges glimmer like the fluttering, iridescent cilia of comb jellies. Shiro hasn’t had much time for the simple, pretty things in life lately. He is ready to reintroduce beauty back into his life.

His gray eyes search for Keith amongst the crowd. He hopes the paladin hasn’t skipped the event, but Shiro wouldn’t put it past him. Keith has never been the party type. But tonight is important. Tonight, Shiro is finally going to close the gap.

Shiro catches a flash of red in his periphery.

Keith is dressed in the same red, white, and gold uniform Shiro has seen him in for weeks. But he is radiant. Shiro can tell he has shined his buttons and pressed his jacket for the occasion. He remembers a time when Keith refused to do so under direct orders, calling it a “pointless task from the Discipline for Dummies handbook”. The Black Paladin stands near a window and chats with Nyma, appearing to genuinely enjoy himself. Shiro is caught up in Keith’s glow, his smile, the way he pushes a lock of black hair behind his ear. He nods and the curl falls back into place again. From across the noisy room, Shiro can’t hear the song of Keith’s laughter, but he knows it well enough to fill in the blank when Keith opens his mouth and his shoulders tremble.

As if on a sixth sense, Keith turns his head and looks directly at Shiro. The white haired captain is taken by surprise but he smiles and waves, sheepish in being caught. Keith smiles back. It’s not soft; Keith’s smiles rarely are. It’s sharp and spirited — fearless even. If that is something a smile could be. Shiro would fly into certain death for it.

Iverson pulls Shiro back into the fray and he loses sight of Keith for the time being. He settles into conversation with people Allura told him to rub shoulders with. Dignitaries, prominent rebel captains, etc. But Shiro is not at his peak charisma for anyone. His mind is elsewhere.

Shiro is ready.

 _After this is all over_ , he kept telling himself. _Once we get back to Earth. Once Zarkon is gone. Later. _Always later. Mission after mission, one Galra ship after another and then...he died. There was no more later, no more _next time _; just a long time to think while floating in the astral plane — of hopes, dreams, and regrets. He realized ‘ _later _’ never existed to begin with. His sickness would have never allowed it. It was just an excuse to keep the people he loved at bay; to make sure they wouldn’t be hurt when he finally deteriorated and became unrecognizable.______

_____ _

_____ _

And then he didn’t.

Repression and compartmentalization are two of the best weapons in Shiro’s arsenal. They are his defense techniques against the nightmares of his own mortality, of Galra captivity, of war, of loss too great for one man to bear. But he is ready to lay them aside and stop denying the simple, irreversible truth: Shiro is in love with Keith.

And even more amazing, Keith is in love with Shiro.

They both know this. They have known for a long, long time. They have circled one another like two parts of a binary star threatening to collide, but always — just barely — falling away from one another. Should they ever crash, Shiro imagined a catastrophic stellar explosion. As if coming together would doom them both somehow. And Shiro preferred to play it safe rather than lose the most important person in his life. But he has seen true catastrophic events now. He has seen alien battleships and dead planets; supernovas and rifts through space and time. Whatever cosmic event awaits them at the end of it, Shiro and Keith are well prepared.

Shiro once piloted Black (or rather, he _was_ Black and Keith was in the chair) past the edges of two merged neutron stars. Devastating and beautiful, the explosion left behind a neverending cloud of gold and platinum. Some pieces were as large as asteroids and some as small as the castle’s compacted diamond. Shiro thinks it's amazing how such a cataclysmic event leads to the birth of the universe’s most precious metals. Space that glitters as far as the eye could see. Perhaps that is what Shiro and Keith would leave in their wake.

Shiro looks for Keith at every opportunity. He catches glimpses of him talking to Pidge, then Kolivan, and then, suddenly, Shiro can’t find him anywhere in the crowd. He worries that Keith has pulled his usual disappearing act and is halfway across the desert on a hoverbike, wind in his hair, pleased to give pleasant society the slip.

The captain shirks his duties and hunts him down. 

Shiro is walking down the main hallway when he spots the familiar cut of Keith’s shoulders — so much broader after he returned from the quantum abyss. The Black Paladin has escaped to an outside viewing deck adjacent to the ballroom. The platform overlooks the wide Garrison quad and, past that, a stretch of mountainous desert. When the moon is full, everything is visible. Tonight, the sky is only illuminated by stars. The brightest parts of the Milky Way stretch across the sky above Keith’s head and Shiro wonders if a more dazzling sight exists across any galaxy.

Keith leans forward, forearms against the metal railing, frame relaxed, and watches the festivities through the tall windows. He is beautiful. The light softens his features, Shiro thinks. That or Keith’s expression is fond; a truly rare phenomenon. Rarer than the collision of two neutron stars.

Shiro leans against the open doorway and crosses his arms. He revels in the quiet moment Keith thinks he has to himself. 

“Taking a break?” he finally says to announce his presence.

Keith starts only a little. He turns and grins at Shiro, looking almost happy to be caught. Shiro’s heart rate spikes. “There’s only so much hand shaking and alien food a guy can stomach,” Keith says.

Shiro nods, “That’s fair.” He crosses to the railing. They stand together in comfortable silence, something they often do. But Shiro is exceptionally anxious; something he does _not_ usually feel. He can feel his heart in his chest and the heat from the dark haired man at his elbow. Or maybe it’s his imagination. Shiro looks up at the stars and imagines he can see Kerberos out in the dark. He also tries to think of something to say. Something witty or poignant. Keith beats him.

“You’re really good at it though,” Keith says. “Shaking hands, being nice, getting people to like you — "

“It comes with practice,” Shiro interrupts because he senses Keith’s oncoming self deprecation. The irony of his internal struggle and Keith’s compliment is not lost on him.

“Well, I’m glad I wasn’t part of the whole Voltron publicity-on-ice thing. I would have tanked our ratings for sure,” the Black Paladin remarks. Keith would have hated every second of it, Shiro knows. Keith wasn’t made for the spotlight, though he certainly deserved it. But Keith is of the singular mind that he deserves nothing from the universe; the product of fending for himself most of life. Shiro has taken great pains to prove Keith wrong. And will continue to do so for, well, the rest of his own life if possible. Shiro notices Keith’s own hard won heroes’ medal isn’t pinned to his red uniform. He says nothing.

“For the record, I think you would’ve been great. If only to outshine Lance,” Shiro shrugs. The joke earns him an amused snort.

Another easy silence falls between them. Shiro rubs his hands together. He’s restless. He’s forgotten everything he rehearsed in his head. But Keith doesn’t notice Shiro’s fidgeting because he watches something through the ballroom windows. With a deep breath, Shiro stands up straight and shoves his hands into his pockets to ground himself. 

“Did you ever get to watch the shows?” he asks. Not the subject he wants to talk about, but Shiro is working his way up to the actual point.

The question breaks Keith’s attention and a cheeky grin spreads across his face. “Pidge sent me recordings,” he admits. “Across the board, the Galra don’t seem to have much in the way of entertainment. Except for sparring. So it was nice to come back from a mission and relax with a little coalition propaganda — ”

“ _Propaganda_ — “ Shiro balks.

“ — I especially liked the one where you blanked on all your lines. Perfect Takashi Shirogane, deer in headlights in front of an entire stadium.” The word ‘perfect’ echoes through Shiro’s mind. It’s not unfamiliar, but it means something different when Keith says it. He runs a palm over his face and up into his white hair. “What a disaster,” he groans.

“You couldn’t be a disaster if you tried,” Keith says. He must immediately sense that he’s crossed some self-designated line. He goes quiet and takes an imperceptible side step away from his captain. Shiro quietly clears his throat. Here they go again, dodging the inevitable. 

Shiro manages an upward glance and Keith passes him a tight lipped grin; a sign that everything is _fine_. Their eyes lock. They know one of them should say something. Shiro could say something; just a few words so they could finally get on the same damn page. Or Keith could, since he had the courage before. Instead, the moment dies again when Keith breaks their connection and looks away. Even in their uncertainties and failures, they trust one another. The pause that follows isn’t awkward or uncomfortable — it just _is_. And it drives Shiro _insane_.

_Get it together, Shirogane._

Shiro’s hand fiddles with the napkin in his pocket. Through an open window, Shiro can still hear the bright swell of brass and elegant choir of strings. The melody is familiar; something more popular than classical.

He should just come right out and say it. Be direct. Put it all on the line. But when he finally looks at Keith to try, his thoughts are elsewhere again. Gray eyes follow Keith’s line of sight to the main hall windows. Inside, some particularly fancy-footed partygoers sway and twirl on the dance floor. A daring cadet has asked Romelle to dance and appears to be teaching her simple waltz steps. It’s endearing and Keith smiles at the sight.

_Huh._

“Do you want to go dance?” Shiro asks. It’s a poorly worded question. It sounds less like a proposition from Shiro and more like a suggestion to mingle with other people. And so Shiro can’t blame Keith when he doesn’t pick up the cue.

Keith is taken aback and he tries to cover up his momentary slip with a scoff. As if literally putting the absurd notion behind him, he revolves completely so the small of his back rests against the railing. He crosses his arms. “I don’t know how to dance,” Keith insists.

Keith never wants to admit when he likes things others may deem silly or frivolous. Maybe it’s the Galra in him. “Everyone knows how to dance,” Shiro says. He waits for the next rebuttal but Keith never delivers it. Instead, the Black Paladin looks out at the darkened Garrison grounds and shuffles his feet, searching for a way to change the conversation topic. Just like that, they switch into a dynamic they are familiar with — impetuous Keith and cool-headed Shiro. It eases the captain’s anxious mind. He thinks more clearly when focused on others, rather than himself.

The realization hits Shiro like a sack of bricks. “Keith, have you…? You’ve _never_ danced?”

Pink blooms at the tips of Keith’s ears. “I mean, I’m not really — “ he clams up. Now _that_ — Shiro knows how to handle. He hasn’t seen Keith’s fevered bashfulness in a long time. He’s forgotten how young Keith can look when his eyes are wide and his face goes red. Keith gestures helplessly with his hands. “ — It’s not like I ever went to those hokey Garrison dances.” Oh, the simpler days. 

Whatever expression Shiro makes has Keith on the offensive. “And between fighting aliens, trying to survive a war, and training with the Blades, there hasn’t been much time to think about... _that_ ,” he reasons. _That_ might mean something else, Shiro thinks. Like fun. Or physical intimacy. They have all forgone personal joys for the greater good. It's high time they reclaim those comforts. “Besides, I know I’m gonna have two left feet anyway, so what’s the point?” Keith crosses his arms, holding them tighter to his body this time.

Shiro laughs, bright and open. “Keith, you’ve got more physical coordination in your pinky finger than most people have in their entire bodies.”

Keith is never good with compliments. His youthful indignance rears its head when he snaps, “Dancing isn’t like hand-to-hand combat.”

Opportunity rises from the ashes and Shiro is a strategist so he knows how to take it. Whatever reservation he had before has been eradicated. He is in tactician mode. Which, in a strange way, is Shiro’s way of flirting. “Isn’t it?” the captain grins coyly, eyes knowing. 

And Keith’s face turns to terror because he senses what is coming next.

The music wafting through the windows is undoubtedly a waltz. Shiro takes a step forward, offers his hand, and challenges, “Come and prove me wrong.”

“You’re not serious.” Keith looks at him like he’s gazing into the open maw of a weblum.

“I am,” Shiro assures.

They have been dancing around each other for so long, perhaps it was time to do it for real. 

Keith stares at Shiro’s outstretched hand, arms still clamped around his torso. Emotions fleet across Keith’s face in quick succession: shock, embarrassment, hesitation. Shiro doesn’t blame him. He has served Keith disappointment several times before, when he was too broken to accept love or too stubborn to realize he needed it. Never out loud; they’ve never said anything explicitly. That is what makes the bond between them so complicated. So Keith is skilled at reading between the lines. He sees Shiro’s gesture for what it is. And the leap is terrifying.

Shiro offers again, with more certainty, “Keith, can I have this dance?”

After a few long seconds, a smile finally breaks through Keith’s resolve. But the joy is muted and uncertain, as if he expects Shiro to take back his offer like it’s a joke. Shiro tries to reassure him with a bigger smile. Still, Keith feels compelled to say, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when I step on your foot.”

He places his hand in Shiro’s and triumph bubbles in the captain’s chest. Strong fingers wrap around the edge of Keith’s gloved palm, tentative and careful. Those hands saved his life. Over and over again. They are the hands of a warrior, a hero. His fingers are hard and calloused, but so are Shiro’s. There is nothing soft about their bodies anymore. They are made of muscle and bone and scars. 

It takes effort to pry Keith away from the railing. Kicking and screaming, Shiro muses to himself, always kicking and screaming. Shiro walks backwards, eyes on the young man before him, and stops when they have reached the balcony’s center. “I’ll lead,” he says.

“You always lead,” Keith quips. Now Shiro knows he’s putting up a fight just for the sake of it. He remembers it took months to convince Keith he could lead anything.

The captain raises his eyebrows. “You wanna lead a dance you don’t know?”

A pause. Keith averts his eyes. Then, “You lead,” he murmurs, almost imperceptible.

Shiro swallows his chuckle and takes a step forward. Keith instinctively takes a step back. But Shiro has patience enough for the two of them and he knows how to navigate Keith’s oppositions. “Put your other hand on my shoulder,” Shiro instructs. Keith does so and he takes half a step forward to reach. A small victory. The pressure of Keith’s palm against his metal shoulder is grounding. 

“And I put mine on your back,” Shiro explains. He’s held Keith before. In hugs and lingering goodbyes. Neither of them are strangers to each other’s touch. But this feels different and they both know it. Shiro thinks he hears the Black Paladin’s breath hitch as the cool metal hand slides across the bottom edge of his shoulder blades. It’s a formal stance with a solid foot of distance between them; an appropriate form for learning.

“Take a step back with the right foot — “

“Your right or my right?” Keith is on high alert. As if failure in waltzing would be reason for Shiro to walk away.

“Your right,” Shiro answers calmly. “And I’ll step forward with _my_ left.”

Their knees bump as they try to handle the space between them. With Keith’s reflexes and agility, the movements of a simple box step should be easy to learn. But the young paladin is stuck in his head, so it isn’t really dancing. More like coordinated walking. They fall into a pattern as Shiro counts the beats under his breath. _One, two, three. One, two, three._ Keith is focused on his own feet. Shiro is focused on Keith’s eyelashes. They catch up to the music but their movements are imperfect and halting, mainly from the Black Paladin’s hesitation. When Shiro thinks Keith finally has the hang of it, he overthinks and skips half a beat.

“This is stupid. I feel stupid,” Keith frowns and start to pull away. Shiro holds him steady. His Altean powered arm is good for something.

“That’s because you’re thinking about it too hard. Just, _let me_ ,” Shiro says. Keith stills. Shiro can see him assess the best course of action; whether to fight or to flee. Keith has always been a fighter. “And stop looking at your feet,” he adds.

Keith is exasperated. “Where _else_ am I supposed to look?”

“Your partner’s eyes,” Shiro answers without missing a beat. 

It cuts right through Keith’s attitude and insecurities, right to his heart. Keith swallows. Dark blue eyes meet Shiro’s and they take the captain’s breath away. The color reminds Shiro of the deepest parts of the universe; beautiful, uncharted, dangerous. They could pull in any space-faring pilot with one glance. But despite Keith’s resolute expression, Shiro can see worry behind those cosmic eyes. He is trying to curb his expectations.

Shiro pushes, gently, and Keith doesn’t push back. A good sign. The young paladin eases back in one fluid movement, to the side, and they complete one full movement without mishap. They do it again. And again. Until they make an entire square set. It’s not an easy task to get Keith to relax, but Shiro grounds him with a soft look and keeps him steady with each push and pull.

Keith doesn’t often let his inhibitions go. His head is so noisy; busy with all the self doubt and loneliness. Keith’s hard outer shell traps everything wonderful about him inside. But Shiro has seen it. He has heard the way Keith hollers when he makes a daredevil’s jump on a hoverbike. He knows the contented expression Keith makes when he’s quietly coexisting with his fellow paladins in a common area. And Shiro sees it now, as Keith’s smile reaches his eyes and they dance together on the balcony — their troubles a million lightyears away.

After a few bars, the music swells, picks up tempo, and Shiro responds in kind. Keith eyes widen in surprise when they begin to turn with the next step, breaking out of the dancing space they previously allocated. The whole concrete platform is suddenly their dancefloor and, for a moment, Shiro thinks maybe he’s overwhelmed Keith. But his partner follows along, allows himself to be led by Shiro’s sure hand, and never once looks down at his feet. As Shiro expected, Keith is a wonderful dancer. He’s light on his feet and nimble in his movements — thoroughly captivating. Shiro thinks, at some point, Keith starts to lead. He doesn’t care. 

Shiro is swept up in ecstasy. It’s not often he lets himself be unabashedly happy either. But there, with the man he adores in his grasp, twirling under the stars, Shiro is not a captain or a war hero; he’s just a man in love. His heart pounds and he thinks it could burst from his chest. He thinks he could kiss Keith. Caught up in the fever and the music, Shiro knows he could break at any moment. He wants to. Keith looks like he wants it as well. But just when he is compelled to lean in, Keith pins him with a fire in his eyes and demands, “Spin me.”

Shiro lifts his left arm and leads Keith into a turn. And then another. And another. Until Keith is laughing, bright and beautiful, calling Shiro’s name as if begging would stop the man’s sudden bout of playfulness. As if he couldn’t stop it himself. Shiro finally concedes when Keith's step seems to wobble from dizziness. He pulls the young paladin back to his arms, hand resting low on Keith's waist.

The music slows.

The lines of their bodies press against one another completely — chest to chest, hips aligned. The armor around the _thing_ between them falls away piece by piece. They can feel it. It’s a new frontier. If possible, their ribs would slot together and they would breathe from the same pair of lungs. Panting into the nonexistent space between, they smile at one another like fools, which is exactly what they are. Because this could have happened so much sooner. The respite brings oxygen back to Shiro’s brain and he overthinks the moment. Keith, per usual, makes the move.

Keith’s left hand slides up Shiro’s chest, across the firm line of his shoulder, and rests at the nape of his neck. It sends a shiver up the captain’s spine. He can feel Keith’s warm breath ghosting over his jaw as he says, “This is nothing like hand-to-hand combat.”

Shiro grins, “I think you’d like tango even more. It’s very aggressive.”

Keith Kogane, Black Paladin and Marmoran Blade, _giggles_. Takashi Shirogane, the galaxy's biggest romantic, melts into a puddle.

The music is quieter than before, but it’s all Shiro can hear. No voices, no laughter; just the tinkling of piano keys and a tender melody. Keith relaxes against Shiro. Cheek to cheek, they sway together as if they had been lovers for years. As if they have always belonged in each other’s arms. They dance in slow, unhurried turns and it feels like they have the power stretch time. Or stop it altogether, so they could suspend themselves in it — an astral plane all their own. It’s so sweet and perfect Shiro has to squeeze his eyes shut, savor the warmth in his arms, and breathe in deep. Keith smells like the desert after it rains.

A long minute passes before either of them has the courage to make a sound and break the spell.

“When I was in the quantum abyss...I thought about you every day,” Keith admits into the electrified air, lips just barely brushing against the shell of Shiro's ear.

Shiro thinks his own heart stops and that Keith’s beats twice as fast for the both of them. The hard pulse of the Black Paladin’s heart is unmistakable, even through the starched layers of their uniforms. “Every time we saw something impossible, I wished you were there to see it too. I imagined what you would say, how you would make sense of it all. And sometimes...I did see you.” He speaks in a murmur but Shiro can hear it like a bell. He furrows his brow, it’s the first he has heard of this. 

Keith holds Shiro’s hand tighter and explains, “Memory waves is what my mom and I started to call them. Glimpses into the past and future caused by solar flares from dying stars.” Space was a miraculous, wonderful place.

“What’d you see?” Shiro asks in a near whisper.

“How my mom got to Earth, how she left...the day I finally beat you on the flight simulator.”

Shiro laughs. That was a very good day. He tries to curb the excitement in his voice when he asks, “And the future?” He wonders if Keith saw this night. If he saw the two of them finally colliding. If he saw them win the war.

Keith is quiet for a long time. It’s suspicious. Finally, he says, “...you’ll end up needing glasses.” 

It’s not what Shiro expects of course, but he rolls with it. “Really? What kind?” 

“Those rectangular ones that nerd dads wear.” Shiro can hear the smile in Keith’s voice.

“Wow, I really let myself go,” Shiro jokes.

That can’t be it. Keith is withholding information, but it’s okay. Knowing too much of the future is a burden; Shiro knows from first hand experience. Clearly, the visions bestowed Keith with the same weight. If there is something he needs to know, Keith will tell him when he is ready. But, despite the brevity, the paladin has told him more than he thinks. In some capacity, Shiro will survive the war. That he will live long enough to need an optometrist. And that maybe, just maybe, he will have children.

“I wish I could have been there too,” he says, “Going out there among the stars — that was my greatest dream. Ever since I was a kid. I wanted it more than anything. To travel to distant planets. To see things no human being has ever laid eyes on. I was ready to give the final years of my life to make that happen.” Shiro can feel the hand at the nape of his neck flinch. “I don’t regret it,” Shiro assures his partner.

The captain sucks in a deep breath. “I would do it all the same...Except for one thing.” Here it goes.

“What?” Keith’s voice is small, almost scared.

“I would be more honest with myself,” Shiro admits. He’s just as terrified. He’s waiting for the cosmic explosion, looking out for any sign of disaster. Shiro notices they’ve stopped swaying, but doesn’t know when it happened. 

“About?” 

Keith is really going to make him spell it out.

Shiro feels the flutter of Keith’s lashes against his cheek as he pulls back. His bulk eclipses the dim light from the ballroom windows and Keith is cast in shadow. But Shiro can still see those eyes — intense, infinite, pupils blown wide. Shiro finally releases what is left of their waltz to cradle Keith’s jaw in his hands. His thumb brushes against the scar on Keith's cheek — a mark Shiro will spend a lifetime making up for — and the young paladin’s mouth drops open slightly. Shiro's fingers push into inky black locks and he _feels_ Keith’s sigh before the warm breath even grazes his wrist. He pushes a curl back behind Keith’s ear. It stays.

“You,” he finally confesses, his pulse rushing through his ears. Keith grasps at Shiro’s forearms, as if he needs to physically brace himself for what comes next.

“I love you, Keith. I’m sorry I took so long.”

In its own way, the moment is magnificent. Instead of shouting from a mountain top at sunset, Shiro whispers his declaration into the cool, desert air as they huddle together in the dark. The timing will never be perfect, but it’s almost there. That’s good enough for Shiro.

But Keith...is frozen. Shiro can’t read his expression. He feels like he loses years off his life waiting for the young man to say something. Anything. The music has stopped and all Shiro can hear are crickets and the wind. His brain cancels out anything else. It is painfully quiet. 

And, suddenly, Shiro feels so foolish. After all that build up, all that passion and enchantment, the older man has a devastating realization: Keith could say ‘no’. For one reason or another — god knows Shiro had come up with more than his fair share — Keith could decide that _this_ isn’t what he wanted anymore. He is his own individual and the choice to meet Shiro halfway is his own. He reserves the right to change his mind. And Shiro just has to live with that heartbreak. This could be the collapse Shiro always feared, but never anticipated. Because he was so _sure_. 

Finally, the void ends. “Are you sure?” Keith asks, as if reading his mind. His eyes are wide open.

“Yes,” Shiro urges, voice strained. He still cradles Keith’s head in his hands and he wonders if he should stop, if he's making Keith uncomfortable.

“Why now?” There is self doubt in Keith’s question, but Shiro’s head is swimming and he can’t make heads or tails of it.

He’s desperate. “If not now, when? We’ve already lost so much time,” Shiro pleads. 

_I can’t be too late. I can’t. Please. Please._

Keith opens his mouth to speak.

Shiro’s whole life is guided and plagued by Murphy’s Law. No matter how hard he works or how many good deeds he performs, the universe always finds a way to mock him. People around him often joke about it. But with each passing year it has become more and more true. Shiro has endured heartbreak, capture, torture, sacrifice, abandonment, death — a horrible accumulation of events no one man should ever have to suffer. And he has done so with a brave face and a strong heart. Because that was what his team needed — what his _family_ needed. But this? This was too much.

“Hey Shiro!“ someone calls. The words startle them from the moment.

Shiro detaches from Keith. If this isn’t what Keith wants, they should save themselves the trouble of an explanation. The separation is physically painful. As his fingertips graze against Keith’s chin, Shiro wonders if he will ever be so intimate to Keith again; if this is as close as he will ever get. He takes a step back and the two feet is a chasm between them. His chest feels cold with an overwhelming sense of loss. Shiro clears his throat.

Keith looks upset, angry even. But Keith’s default emotion is often anger, so Shiro doesn’t know what it means when the young paladin balls his hands into fists and looks down at the ground with a clenched jaw.

Murphy’s Law rears its ugly head in the form of Matt Holt. He doesn’t mean it, Shiro knows that, but his timing couldn’t be worse. He appears at the open doorway with a big smile and rosy cheeks, the result of a few drinks no doubt. Somehow, he has scraped together some business casual wear. But the tie around his neck is loose and lopsided, much like his smile. His joy and exuberance cuts through the air between them like a knife. He has no idea what he has just interrupted.

He waves from the doorway, “There you are! Oh, sorry. If you guys are having some sorta _super secret Voltron_ meeting — “

As if someone flipped a switch, he is Captain Takashi Shirogane once more. Perfect and unshakeable. “It’s fine, Matt,” Shiro says, voice calm and collected. Inside, he’s a mess. Repression and compartmentalization. He steps out to turn his body toward Matt and give him full attention. “What can I help you with?”

Matt stumbles over the door jam and tries to play it off by leaning against the frame. “Do you know where the engineering supply closet is? Something’s wrong with the mixer we got for Bii-Boh-Bi and the tipsy cadets are getting restless.”

“It’s down the hall,” Keith cuts in, tone sharp and impatient. Shiro turns his eyes to the Black Paladin. Keith looks like he’s about to blow a gasket. Or throw Matt off the balcony. “Make a left after the Titan photograph. Door’s on the right. Has a plaque.”

“Ugh, thanks Keith. You’re the best,” Matt says. He turns, but doesn’t leave. He points at Shiro and says, “You’re the best too. No, sorry, I take that back. Katie is the best. But you guys come in a solid second. I think Allura comes in third...” Matt waves goodbye. Shiro only relaxes when Matt’s footsteps have faded completely.

They stand there. In the silence. In the dark. Back to square one; waiting for one another to _do something_. 

Shiro hears the voices now. There’s still no music. Just rowdy youngsters and a lot of hollering. The magic is lost.

He shuffles his feet. Shiro can see Keith out of the corner of his eye and he still looks agitated. Shiro fixes his eyes on a crack in the balcony floor. He’s in captain mode and the transition back into Shiro is much more difficult than the other way around. He opens and closes his mouth once, twice, and finally spits out, “I’m sorry. I never intended to make you feel uncomfortable or — “

Keith kisses him. He kisses Shiro _hard_ , like his life depends on it. It’s not romantic or graceful. It’s solid and Keith might have broken Shiro’s nose if he missed. His gloved hands grip fistfuls of Shiro’s uniform to keep the captain in place. _Don’t run away from this_ , is what the kiss says. And Shiro couldn’t run away if he wanted to. Shiro’s mind goes blank after the initial shock. His legs might not support him much longer. This is it. He closes his eyes and leans into it.

And just as he places his hands on Keith’s waist, just as he is ready to go all in, the paladin pulls away. Shiro tilts forward in a haze, instinctively following Keith’s lips. But when he is met with nothing but air, Shiro opens his eyes. Dark blues look back at him, determined and certain. Keith looks practically incandescent, like he does in the afterglow of a hard won battle. And before Shiro can muck it up anymore, Keith shakes him and says, “Shut up and fucking kiss me.” 

Shiro spares only a single breath before leaning back in. This time, kissing Keith feels like the rolling of an earthquake instead of the punch of a tidal wave. It shakes Shiro to his very core because Keith kisses like he fights — without reservation. He gives Shiro the illusion of the lead. Just like dancing. But, as their lips slide together over and over, Shiro realizes he is following Keith’s direction. Because Shiro is finally ready to unload his heavy burdens and let himself have something wonderful for once. He is ready to lean on the one person who could help him hold up the world. And he knows, deep down, it was always going to be Keith. 

Keith runs his fingers through Shiro’s short cropped hair and Shiro grasps at the fabric on Keith’s back. He can feel the ripple of muscle beneath and it stirs something in Shiro he hasn’t felt in a very, very long time. The moan Keith makes against Shiro's lips sends a shockwave through his entire body. He always wondered what that would feel like. 

Shiro opens his mouth in a breathy gasp and Keith seizes the opportunity. The hot slide of tongue is his limit. Shiro thinks his heart is going to burst. It feels like re-entering Earth's atmosphere. Hurdling to the ground at seven kilometers per second; his whole being alight with adrenaline and an indescribable heat. But the real knockout is how _good_ Keith is. He licks over and past Shiro’s lips as if he has done it hundreds of times before. And Shiro can only stand there and _take it_ because he is an old man who is about to go into cardiac arrest. He unravels surely, as Keith’s palms slide from his hair to his shoulders. The final blow is sharp teeth. Impossibly sharp. Keith bites at Shiro’s bottom lip, tugging gently as he finally pulls away.

_Fuck._

Shiro’s eyes slowly flutter open. Keith is a vision; flushed from neck to forehead, used lips parted as he catches his breath. Shiro has a feeling he looks even less put together, but he could care less. He has tunnel vision. The young paladin gazes up at Shiro, waiting for a reaction. 

“Where’d you learn _that?_ ” Shiro finally bursts.

Keith raises his eyebrows. “The Blades don’t just train in combat, you know.” The answer stuns Shiro so hard he almost chokes. It is the reaction Keith was clearly aiming for. A smile that could outshine the sun spreads across Keith’s face as he grasps the lapels of Shiro’s jacket. “I’m joking, I’m joking!” he says.

They laugh together, easy and warm. His heart still hammers against his chest, but he is used to it now. He smooths his palms against Keith’s spine and brings him back in. There’s no hesitation to meet anymore. In response, the young man drapes his arms over Shiro’s wide shoulders. They naturally begin to sway. No music plays, but they both hear something.

Shiro feels compelled to clear the air. “For a second there I thought — I wasn’t sure if you were — “ he starts.

“Says the guy who’s been giving me mixed signals for years,” Keith chides. Shiro chuckles but even he has to admit: he deserved that one.

Suddenly, loud music erupts from the ballroom. But it isn’t classical anymore. A glissando makes way for an upbeat track, an oldies disco song that everyone knows. Shiro supposes it is a piece of cultural importance. Keith and Shiro both stop and look to the ballroom windows just as the chandelier's glow is replaced by flashing beams of colored light. The ballroom has morphed into a club. Partygoers scream and rush to the dance floor in groups, forming a mob on the furthest end of the room. And above it all, DJ Bii-Boh-Bi at the turntables. The after party has begun.

Keith and Shiro watch the festivities, scanning for their friends. It is hard to make out any faces among the crowd, but Pidge makes a sudden appearance. Her small form is lifted above the mass of bodies and she crowd-surfs the length of the mob, short arms waving about in glee. The former and current Black Paladins can’t help but laugh.

Shiro is so happy he thinks he could burst. It has been so long; he had forgotten what that feels like.

Keith turns his attention back to Shiro. “Do you want to play hooky with me, Captain Shirogane?” he asks. The offer is vague and could include a multitude of things — Shiro wants it all. This night is for them. So the answer is, of course, yes but the disco music has brought Shiro’s playful side out again. 

“A captain never abandons his ship,” he jokes with a wry smile. 

Keith is unruffled. He takes Shiro’s hand in his own and smiles up at his captain. “Well, then...maybe Takashi — ” he tests the name. Shiro’s knees threaten to give out. He could get used to that. “ — maybe Takashi will come with me instead.”

“I would love to,” Shiro answers.

They escape under the cover of night and the blaring music drowns out the sound of the hoverbike they ‘borrow’. Shiro will deal with the consequences later. Keith drives, Shiro at his back, out into the desert with no destination. Keith knows the terrain like the back of his hand and there are places from the Garrison days that are theirs already. But Shiro asks him to take them someplace new, someplace they could remember and come back to. Because, no matter what, Shiro will bring Keith back. He has to. 

They find a mesa where the air is crisp and stars seem to shine the brightest. They talk, kiss, and laugh into the darkness with abandon.

And if they make love under the stars, well, that is entirely their own business. But Shiro is sure they leave the ridge covered in gold and platinum dust.

**Author's Note:**

> Consider: closing montage scene with intercut shots of the team dancing/having fun and the boys sneaking away into the night to the timeless tune of ABBA's 'Dancing Queen'. Thank you.
> 
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